


There Are Worse Ways To Hurt

by jakia



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-07
Updated: 2012-11-07
Packaged: 2017-11-18 04:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jakia/pseuds/jakia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine loves Kurt.  Kurt loves/hates Blaine.  Brittany loves Santana, and Sam loves Brittany.  Brittany and Blaine are fucking, but they hate each other because of it. [The saddest ND/ND fic in the world.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	There Are Worse Ways To Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post the Braine fic all together once it was completely finished, but the more I think about it, the more I think it works better in sections. What do you think? Here’s the first sections. Let me know if you think I should post a little bit at a time, or everything at once. I could use feedback.
> 
> Ships: all the ships. No, but Santana/Brittany, Kurt/Blaine, Blaine/Brittany, Santana/Red Haired Lesbian, Kurt/Chase, Sam/Brittany, Sam/Blaine, and Tina/Teen Jesus, I THINK but there might be more it’s not done yet.
> 
> Warnings: Gay characters having straight sex, angsty angsty feelings, self-harm in a very psychological way, Blaingst on top of Brittangst, and sad ND/ND, which I bet you never thought you’d see, huh? Might be more later, but that’s all I can think of at the moment.

1.

“I just thought I should tell you, since we promised to always be honest—I’m having sex with Blaine now.  I still love you the most though.”  
  
If Santana had been drinking something, she would have spit it out across the screen.  “Blaine? As in, Blaine Warbler?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I thought he was gay!”  
  
Brittany shrugs.  Things like sexuality always seemed so needlessly complicated to her.  “That’s why they invented strap-ons.”  
  
Santana feels like throwing up at the thought of it—of Blaine, who is lovely and must be beautiful underneath those obnoxious bow-ties and overly soft cardigans of his, writhing beneath her Brittany, saying lovely things and being generally wonderful to one another.   
  
But she can’t say anything, because her hair is still wet from when she left Lisbeth’s shower less than an hour ago. 

  
(Lisbeth, not Elizabeth, and it’s dumb and  _she’s_  dumb and Santana could never ever love her, but she loves her breasts and her red hair and the way her tongue feels against her clit, and how not alone she makes her feel.)  
  
She swallows her breath instead.  “How—how’s that working out for you?  Is he—is he good to you?”  
  
Brittany shrugs.  “Yeah, I guess.  He doesn’t like girls, but he always makes sure I come, too, which is nice.  Some boys don’t.  He misses, Kurt though.  Sometimes he cries afterwards.”  
  
That would suck.  She can’t even imagine it. “I’m so sorry, Britt.”  
  
She touches the screen fondly, like if she tried hard enough she could just reach through and caress Santana’s face.  “It’s okay.  Sometimes I cry, too.  Sometimes we don’t even have sex, we just cuddle and cry together.”  
  
“Brittany, that’s awful!”  
  
But Brittany doesn’t find it awful at all.  “It’s better than crying alone.  And he has excellent tastes in Disney movies.  Anyway, how’s Lisbeth?”  
  
Santana pets the screen, and swallows her guilty conscience.  “She’s not as pretty as you.”  
  
Brittany snorts like  _well, of course she’s not._ “Yeah, but is she—nice and stuff?”  
  
 _We don’t talk.  We just fuck._   “Yeah, I guess.  She bites and that hurts like hell, but yeah, other than that, I guess she’s nice.”  
  
Brittany nods like she understand a point Santana didn’t realize she was making.  “Blaine—Blaine’s  _needy_.  I don’t know if he’s actually into being hurt or if he’s just trying to punish himself.”  
  
“Well, he did hurt Kurt pretty bad.  Kurt absolutely  _hates_  him now if his facebook is anything to go by.”  
  
Brittany’s eyes soften.  “Nobody hates Blaine more than Blaine does.  Not even Kurt.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Hours later, when she logs off of Skype and starts getting ready for bed, Brittany’s words stay in her head for a while:  _nobody hates Blaine more than Blaine does._  
  
She wonders, then, what that makes Brittany:  if she makes him better or worse, or if they just encourage one another’s own downward spirals.   
  
She wonders if this means Brittany hates herself, too.


End file.
